Want
by Buzz Killington
Summary: 'I don't want to do this.' That's what he'd told Sharon. Rusty hadn't even wanted to meet his biological father, and he'd told her that. Like a million times he'd told her. But all she'd said was, "I know," in that sad apologetic tone. Warnings: Mentions of prostitution, non-con. Not sure if it's a one-shot or to be continued.


Author's notes: Okay, so it's been a long time since I've written anything, but I woke up in the middle of the night and felt the urge to write. I'm not sure if it's a one-shot or if it'll be continued, showing the aftermath of this scene. Warning: there is non-con (not graphic, but present), and there is mentions of Rusty's past as a prostitute.

Disclaimer: I don't own Major Crimes.

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_I don't want to do this._

That's what he'd told Sharon. He hadn't even wanted to meet his biological father, and he'd told her that. Like a _million_ times he'd told her. But all she'd said was, "I know," in that sad apologetic tone. How was that supposed to be helpful?

It wasn't her fault; he knew it wasn't. It was some _stupid_ rule about his father having rights over him. But he was _happy_ with Sharon. Lord knows he hadn't wanted to go with her at first, either, he conceded. He'd reluctantly moved in with her, true, but in time, in a weird way, their tiny little 'family' worked, and he was happy. He felt _safe_. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that. But then DCF had to show up with his father and ruin everything.

He absently folded his arms across his stomach, feeling utterly sick.

It had all happened so fast.

One day he was Rusty Beck, ward of Sharon Raydor. He'd even toyed with the idea of asking if she'd mind if he change his name to Rusty Raydor except that he didn't really like the sound of those names together. Just because they didn't have the same last name didn't mean that they weren't family, though, right?

The next day he found himself being ripped away from his life with Sharon. It seemd as though he might as well change his name to Rusty Dunn. He hadn't realized that agreeing to meet his biological father meant that he would officially _belong _to the guy. They'd shared one awkward conversation during which Rusty had brought the man up to date with what his life had been like. He'd actually felt a little bit guilty as he'd bitterly told the guy all about his life selling his body on Sunset. He'd felt guilty enough that he relented and started playing nice and talking about normal stuff like school and chess. No sooner had the DNA test come back as a positive match, though, things changed. It was no longer time to play nice. He'd learned that he didn't have a choice. The man was his biological father, and as far as DCF was concerned that meant it was his right to take Rusty home with him.

They hadn't gone home, though. No, his father said he wanted to get to know Rusty before taking him to meet the fiancé and her kids. More likely, he'd figured, the man didn't want the fiancé and kids exposed to the street treat just yet. So the man had checked him into some fleabag hotel that might as well have been a million miles away from the home he shared with Sharon.

Rusty felt a shiver wrack his body as he stood under the shower spray, trying to wash away the filth he could feel all over his body. He closed his eyes as he tilted his head back, letting the hot water splash against his face.

The hotel accommodations were nasty to begin with. The room had no windows and was dark and dank and had smelled of sex when they'd walked in. It was the sort of place you went for an hour, not for the night, and it was certainly not a place you should take your son. He'd almost said as much, but had bitten his tongue. That's not the sort of thing you say around your dad. Not that that would have stopped him before, he supposed, but…for Sharon's sake he'd started to filter the things he said rather than just blurting out his every negative thought.

She'd been good for him, and he missed her terribly even though it had been only a few hours. She was more of a mother to him than…

It was useless to think of such things. Just like it was pointless to think back to his old life.

_Whore._

The weight of the word bore down on his soul.

He sucked in his breath and held it in as he tilted his head back further. He could feel the water washing the sweat from his body. He still felt gross. The sheets on the hotel bed…they'd been slightly damp and felt sticky against his skin. Gross.

How was he supposed to relax in a place like this? Sure, he used to be able to. He'd sometimes even thought places like this to be a bit of a luxury before Sharon had taken him in. It was better than being on his knees in an alley, at least. Depending on the car those were often better than rooms like this, though. The upholstery in the back seats usually felt clean against his back. Or stomach. Cars didn't have showers, of course, so that was the only reason that the hotels like this might be considered better.

He just wasn't used to it anymore. While living with Sharon, he'd let it get into his head that he'd never be in a place like this ever again.

_I don't want to do this._

He'd said it only once.

It hadn't mattered.

He let out his breath and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the wall as the water rolled down his back. He shouldn't touch the wall, he thought absently, but didn't move away from it. It didn't matter how dirty it was, he was every bit as dirty and would never be clean, anyway.

He could feel phantom hands on his hips and breath against the back of his neck.

_Hands slid the hem of his shirt up. "That'll cost you twenty extra dollars," he automatically recited without even thinking about it. There was no hesitation in the man's movement and within moments the shirt was pulled up over his head and discarded on the floor next to his jeans. _

_He wanted to scream as he felt the man's body press against his back and felt the rough hands ghost over his chest and then across his taut belly. Instead he turned the scream to a moan, a trick he'd used with many of the men. It had the same effect it had on most and he could feel the man harden. He closed his eyes, fighting back a wave of nausea as he felt the man's mouth on his neck. The man's fingertips tickled as they moved lower. He did his best not to tense as he felt the fingers slide beneath the waistband of his final article of clothing. _

_He didn't want this. _

_He felt tears trying to well and rapidly blinked. He couldn't cry. He _couldn't_. He could show no weakness or he'd be eaten alive on the streets. A certain clientele loved it when boys cried, and if word got out that he was a crier...he knew he couldn't handle that type on a regular basis. He'd encountered them before and they were the worst. Not that it was ever good, but he needed the money. He was a rotten thief and couldn't afford to be caught and arrested. They'd send him back to…no, he couldn't think about that. He needed to think pleasant thoughts or he'd cry for sure. _

_He trembled a little bit as he felt his underwear sliding slowly down his legs. He mechanically stepped out of them, letting his body lean against the man behind him for balance. He swallowed a sob as he felt the bulge in the man's jeans pressing against his now bare skin. He couldn't cry. _

_This wasn't supposed to be his life anymore! Sharon was supposed to...But she wasn't here. She couldn't save him._

"I don't want to do this,"_ he protested, his voice far weaker than he would have liked. It didn't matter what he wanted. The man's arms tightened around him. He hadn't wanted Rusty the son, after all. He'd wanted the street treat. _

Though he'd tried to block out what happened next, he was out of practice and he'd been present through the whole thing. Despite his resolve not to, he firmly established his reputation as a crier as he was pressed down on the filthy mattress. He'd forgotten how to relax and just let it happen and it _hurt_ as the man took his unwilling body.

It had almost hurt worse when his 'father' simply left afterward. He honestly wasn't sure if the man was coming back or if he was being abandoned again. He wasn't sure which option was worse.

_He stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before falling to his knees and vomiting into the bowl. He felt as though he was running on autopilot as he shakily began working on damage control. He should be able to handle this. He was out of practice, that was all. He needed to clean himself up. _

The water was starting to turn tepid, so he turned it off. He slid his body down the wall until he was sitting in the tub, his arms wrapping around the knees he'd drawn up to his chest. This shouldn't affect him like this. It wasn't like he was new to the game or was some blushing virgin or something. He just…he just thought that part of his life was behind him. He should have known better. It would never be behind him—it was who he was. He'd just let it happen, too. He hadn't fought. Not even when he'd felt strong hands bearing down on his neck, depriving him of air until he'd felt oddly euphoric. Why had he felt that? He hadn't wanted any of what was happening to him, but despite everything he hadn't wanted to die. So why…? It didn't matter. He still hadn't fought. He hadn't screamed. He hadn't even really said 'no', just a stupid _useless_ little, 'I don't want to do this'.

He didn't even realize that there were tears rolling down his cheeks until he felt the drops dribbling down his neck. He sucked in a shuddering breath as he pressed his forehead to against his knees.

What was he supposed to do now?

He didn't know, so he stayed where he was. He stayed there for what felt like hours. Perhaps days. His body felt overly stiff when he finally rose to his feet. His legs were wooden as he shuffled into the bedroom. For a few moments he tensed as he scanned the room, not sure if he wanted to find his father there or not. The answer probably was found when he relaxed, realizing he was alone.

He almost sat on the soiled bed but thought better of it. He might never be clean, but he'd at least try to keep himself from getting dirtier.

He couldn't stay here. But where was he supposed to go?

The clock on the night stand read 2:17. With no windows, and no real sense of time, Rusty wasn't sure if it was morning or afternoon.

He didn't care.

He picked up the phone and with trembling fingers dialed her number.

It didn't even ring twice before she was picking it up. "Rusty?" she asked, her voice sounding a little sleepy, but full of concern. How she knew it was him, he had no idea, but he didn't really care.

He couldn't speak. He could only let the tears roll down his face.

"Rusty? Is that you?"

He nodded, though he knew she couldn't see him.

"Are you okay?"

He shook his head and let the phone drop from his grip.

Even with the phone lying on the floor, he could still hear her voice and it made him smile a tiny wintery smile. He shouldn't have called her. She couldn't save him from what he was. He couldn't ever go home…go back to Sharon's home. His father had rights. He belonged with his father. That's what DCF had told him.

He couldn't breathe.

He listened to the calm steady tone of Sharon's voice, though he couldn't process the words she was saying. He wasn't sure how long he stood there letting the even timbre of her voice soothe him. It must have been quite a while, though, because the next thing he knew, she was there. At first he wasn't even sure that she was real. But her comforting voice was no longer just over the phone, but right there behind him.

He blinked as he turned his head to glance over his shoulder, not positive that he could believe his own senses. She couldn't be there. Could she?

But she was.

She stood in the doorway, gaping at him. The door was slightly off its hinges. He hadn't even heard it being broken open. He could see Flynn just past her, but that didn't matter. She was there. He watched as she hung up her cell phone. He wanted to say something, anything, to let her know how glad he was to see her, but he couldn't speak. So he forced his lips into what he hoped could pass for a smile.

And then she was carefully wrapping her coat around him.

He felt her lips brush gently against his temple and closed his eyes.

_He wanted this._

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End Note: If I do continue this, don't be surprised if this first chapter gets re-written; I wrote it at like 2 in the morning and am not certain it quite works...but I would highly appreciate any feedback and constructive criticisms that might help me improve it!


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